He doesn't often leave the confines of the Cove. He doesn't really need to. Their little slice of Beqanna held all he could require, most of what he could want. None of them really needed to leave, but sometimes the herd was too quite, or mundane. Sometimes, one just needed a change of pace to spark life back into them.
It is not unusual to find him trailing after his younger sister, Kersey. The two siblings had formed a camaraderie, filling each others needs, giving each other purpose. He was the trap, she was the surgeon, delicately undoing the seams of his catch. Kult did not posses any sense of delicacy, everything about him was coarse, urgent. And so, when Kersey had announced that she was traveling to the Meadow, Kult was quick to tailgate.
They traded the salt filled air of the shore, for the fragrance of wild flowers and a million horses. Some of which were no longer even present, not for a while. Like any place filled with potential victims, the Meadow was still a feast for the two black pits he called eyes. Even as ravenous as it made him, hot breath expels from his lungs in distaste for those gathered. He trails behind the female, crawling, snaking across the grass lands;head and neck slung low. He wove as if stricken with back problems, a prowling, out of place gait. However, Kult's back was perfectly fine, straight as an arrow.
Against his sisters vivid shocks of orchid, he was an unremarkable fading, flat bay. The tree-bark brown lacked luster, was made even more dull by the peppering of rose-grey to take its place. Even his eyes were black, void and unyielding. An irregular star sprawls beneath his clouding forelock in a letter 'x'. He only watches silently as Kersey leads them to a lone stallion, standing against the gentle stream that runs back the way they came. When she stops to introduce them, he walks to the bank peering into the cloudy water below. The stream bed has been recently disrupted, grains of sand still floating near the surface, not yet settled to the bottom where they belong. He does not add much to the conversation, the exchange of names has been taken care of, but he does give something. A single word of expression, "fish," he says with a crooked grimace. He was equally unamused with the poor entertainment of marine life.
